Translucence
by Captain Silence
Summary: In a world where a Mad King rules, Haytham Kenway is determined to protect not only his wife but his unborn child. It will not be easy, but this is his only chance at a life he never had. If he wants any hope of even putting a dent in the tyranny, Haytham must take bigger risks than he's ever had to take before. Can he kill the king? Or will he fail just like all the others?
1. when we collide

**A/N: Welcome my friends to the first chapter of ****_Translucence_****, a story idea that was proposed by Templar's Creed. By the summary, we all know that this is a story set in the alternate universe that was presented in the "Tyranny of King Washington" DLC. In the spirit of that DLC, I had decided to give Haytham ****Kanien'kéha dress. The dress idea was referenced from a very beautifully drawn picture of Tyranny style Haytham and Ziio. If you haven't seen it, go on over to Google and type "Tyranny Haytham" into the image search. It's pretty easy to spot. **

**As of right now, I only have the first chapter written, though I hope to get done with the second soon enough. I'm going to just leave this first chapter up for a while and see how it's taken and then I'll begin posting the following chapters. I'll be breaking it up into three parts, much like the actual DLC.**

**I do not own any of these characters, and as always: please read and review!**

**Without further ado, I present to you: **_**Translucence**_**!**

* * *

_**Translucence **_

**part one:** _this is how you bring me back to life_

**CHAPTER ONE: **_when we collide_

It was snowing. The flakes fell soundlessly against the window of Haytham Kenway's room in the Restless Ghost, sparkling in the last rays of sunlight. Although it was quite cold outside, none of it managed to enter the little room the Englishman currently called home. There was a fire roaring at the hearth, spreading a blanket of warmth across the room. Despite the tea he drank and the warmth of the room around him, the Grandmaster was nursing a headache, one that seemed content to eat away at his every thought. He found that, no matter how hard he tried to concentrate, he could not scribble a single syllable into his journal. In vain, he'd closed it with a huff and now sat with his head bowed at his desk.

Earlier that day, he'd seen the harsher side of his son, who had proclaimed that if either Haytham or Washington followed him, he would not hesitate to kill them. When he had made to take his leave, Haytham had overheard an exchange between Washington and one of the other soldiers. Washington mentioned an Apple. An Apple that plagued him with nightmares. Whenever he spoke of it, his voice grew frantic. He was afraid of it and Haytham's mind went instantly to Birch's theories of the First Civilization. Curiosity had gotten the better of the aging Grandmaster, and he'd stuck around. He watched from afar, scoping out the Commander's every move.

Before long, Washington had retreated to his tent and no noise came from it for some time. Thinking he'd wasted his time, Haytham had just been about to leave when Washington's surprised shout came from within the tent. The Grandmaster maneuvered to get a better look as the camp exploded into action. Soldiers came from every direction, swarming towards the Commander's tent. It was then, at the exact moment when a soldier made to enter the tent that the explosion of light and noise happened.

From within the folds of Commander George Washington's tent flooded a brilliant golden light. It swept across the ground, bringing with it a torrent of high-pitched ringing. Haytham would come to recognize that sound as the sound of absolute power doing what it did best: corrupting absolutely. Though, at the time he hardly thought of it as that. At the time, the blast had thrown him backwards, sending him head over heels down the incline, hands clutching at his ears, which now echoed with the dull ringing of power.

After that, which had been the origin of his migraine, Haytham had quickly taken his leave and returned to the Restless Ghost. He was still no closer to making sense of what he'd seen - what he'd _felt_. When the golden light had spread across the ground, it had _engulfed _his nerve endings, sending them into a twitching, tingling mess. And he was still hearing that damned ringing. It was like a mosquito on a warm night, consistent and annoying as hell. Only, Haytham could kill mosquitos, he couldn't kill something that wasn't alive and was _inside_ his head.

He massaged his temples as he rose from his chair and took a step towards his cot, thinking that some rest would help. His body teetered on shaking legs and he grabbed the back of the chair, the ground spinning in and out of focus. Haytham stumbled, cursing under his breath. _What the bloody hell is happening? _he wondered, leaning the side of his pounding head into his palm. He blinked away the vertigo and took another step towards his cot, slowly loosening his grip on the chair. He wasn't aware that his legs had buckled until the ground rushed up to meet his face as he fell into it. He heard the distant snap of his nose breaking, and a muffled, disembodied cry as the darkness rushed in and Haytham Kenway passed out right there, in the middle of his room at the Restless Ghost. Little did he know, but out in Valley Forge, Washington and many of his men had also slumped to the ground; completely unconscious and unresponsive.

* * *

"Haytham?"

When he came to his senses, there were three things he noticed. He was not lying on the wooden floor of the Restless Ghost, but on the soft grass of the forest. It was not the middle of winter, as he could hear birds chirping around him. And, someone was saying his name. A someone he never thought he'd hear speak again. A hand touched his face, his name once again spoken, and his eyes slid open. He lay on his back, and above him Ziio's face came into focus.

He tried to form words, but instead he could only stare up at her, taking in her face. Her skin was the same dark complexion it had been last time he saw her. Her eyes were gentle, glowing a soft brown. Twin braids fell against her shoulders, tied off with one white ribbon and one clay red. Two feathers stuck up from the back of her head, casting a faint shadow across the top of her head. He blinked, and she was still there, regarding him with a faint smile.

"It's nearly noon," she said, compassion in her tone, leaning back as he sat up, propping himself up on one elbow. "You need to get up."

Haytham reached out and touched her face, she was there. She was really there. She leaned into his touch, favoring him with a smile, though confusion sparked in her eyes. "Ziio," he started, but didn't know how to finish the thought. The words, however, that came out were: "You're here."

Her forehead creased further, her hand taking his. "Of course I am," she replied. "We came here together. Are you alright?" She tilted her head to the side, searching his face. When he nodded, she pulled him to his feet and he pulled her into him, holding her against his chest. She leaned into the embrace, pressing her head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He could tell she was surprised, but apparently had no words.

She stepped back from the embrace, looking up at him. "Are you sure you're alright?" she asked.

"I am quite alright," he replied with a faint smile, still not exactly knowing how to react to this. He suspected that on the way down, he'd not only broken his nose but smashed his head quite hard. He was quite sure that he was dreaming.

"Good, we need to go, I heard noise over the hill." Ziio turned and made her way up the hill at a jog, leaving Haytham standing by the water alone. It was only than that he realized he wasn't wearing his normal attire.

"What the-" He started, staring down at the long cape he wore. It was a pale beige, the color of dead grass. Up closer to his shoulders it was the same clay red as the ribbon Ziio tied her hair with, with feathers tied to the edges of it. At his shoulders, was shoulder pads of white feathers and as he reached to touch them he realized that even the hidden blade gauntlets were different. They were a soft brown, etched with gold designs, matching the ones that criss-crossed on the red area of his unfamiliar cape.

As he moved his head, something shifted on his head and his hand jumped to touch it. The tips of his fingers touched something cool and he jerked his hand away, turning so he could see his reflection in the water. He wore a large eagle-head headdress. Three large feathers stood up from the back of it and it's beak curved over his forehead, giving him a dangerous look. He looked down at the rest of him. He wore robes similar to Ziio's only they were a darker brown and he wore a tunic and trousers, whereas she had only her dress. He touched his neck, red clay beads encircling it.

Haytham blinked, shaking his head slowly. Ziio's call of his name echoed back to him and he turned, walking towards it. He had never been this confused before. He had to be dreaming, and despite himself he turned to an old superstition. He dug his fingernail into his skin and winced slightly. It had hurt. Did that mean he wasn't dreaming? That this was somehow real? How did any of this make-

He stopped in his tracks. At his finger was a simple band, carved out of bone. He blinked, calling up the memory of Ziio's hand. Her finger had held a similar one. Did that mean that here - wherever here was - the two of them had stayed together? That they had started a life together and that he was one of her people - one of the Kanien'kéha?

He took a deep breath, and followed Ziio up the incline. When he'd joined her, she started walking again. "What's happened?" he asked, the screams in the distance reaching his ears. At first Ziio didn't answer, picking her way through the forest. Although surprised, Haytham found that he was able to easily follow in her footsteps.

"The Mad King has been sending out his men to anyone who opposes him," replied Ziio, glancing back at Haytham. "You know this." She didn't give him time to respond before taking off again. Not knowing how to reply - as he hadn't known that this "Mad King" was sending out men, hell, he didn't even know who the Mad King was - he went after her.

It wasn't long before they stumbled upon a group of men in blue coats attacking villagers. Ziio proclaimed that they had to help and brandished a knife. She ran down with a battlecry and Haytham swore under his breath, pulling his pistols and going after her. The Bluecoat patrol was easily dispatched by the two, their movements fluid. As Haytham finished off the last, Ziio had gone and helped one of the village women to her feet.

Haytham made his way over, catching the words: "You must be careful, Kaniehtí:io, you are with child and King George is always on the look out for you, or," she nodded to Haytham as he approached, "your husband."

"_-with child…" _The words shook Haytham to his core and he nearly stumbled. Ziio looked to him, taking his hand. She nodded to the woman. "Do not worry for me." And she smiled and turned to keep walking back towards the village, her hand still in Haytham's.

"You're with child," he said, when the reached the top of the hill. "And that woman called Washington, King. He is but a Commander."

Ziio turned to look at him. "Haytham, have you injured your head? King George Washington has been in control for many months. Yes, I am with child. You knew that as well. Is there something wrong, _ne akweks_? You do not seem yourself this day." She reached up and touched his face, and he put his hand on hers.

"You must be careful," he said, dodging the question. How was he even supposed to explain that the last memory he had of her was her telling him to leave and she'd kill him if she ever saw him again? How was he supposed to explain that their son had told him that she was dead, burned alive in a fire Washington started?

Her lips twitched and she kissed his cheek. "We must go," was all she said before turning and continuing her trek back towards the Kanien'kéha village. After a moment he followed. He hated that she wouldn't admit that she needed to be careful. She was carrying their child. _Connor_. He took a deep breath, he hadn't even known about Connor before. Now he had a chance to make things right and he'd be damned if he messed it up again. He caught up to her as she untethered a horse. He mounted and she lead him towards Concord.


	2. reckless hearts

**A/N: Hey! I'm here with chapter two! It's about the same length as chapter one, which I hope you all enjoyed. I'm going to say that there are going to be differences between this and the actual DLC but there are a few things from the DLC that I want to get in, sooo I'll be throwing those in. **

**This chapter contains the first of those: a sky world journey. Those honestly fascinated me, though I do think they took away from the challenge of the game, so I doubt Haytham will go on any more than one. I'm going to explain the sky world more in the next chapter, I just gave you a little taste here. **

**Also, just a side note. I am in ****_no way_**** an expert on Mohican names/language/etc. Everything Mohican in here will be found on the Internet. Just going to say, it's really hard to find things with the language sooo there won't be as much of the language in here. It's sad, because I had really wanted to explore the traditions of these people and really immerse Haytham, myself and the readers into it. **

**Anyways, please enjoy! And, as always, these characters are not mine. Please read and review, I want to see your thoughts to where this is going.**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: **_reckless hearts _

They passed through Concord without much trouble. They'd stopped a few times to free some of Ziio's people, but they didn't run into any more large patrols of Bluecoats. They did not speak much, though Haytham had so many questions about where he now was. He no longer believed he was dreaming, and had begun to think of other ways that he could have ended up there. Recalling the memories he had of the life he'd lived before being transported here, he remembered the Apple. After getting from Ziio that Washington used a staff with a round object on the top, Haytham suspected that it had to do with that Apple, since it was the only thing that was the same in both universes.

Before long, Kanatahséton came into view, several staircases of smoke climbing up towards the heavens. Beside him, Ziio spurred her horse into a canter, and Haytham followed suit, not wanting to let her out of his sight for more than too long. She was with child after all, _his child_. It was all very surreal. Perhaps, he thought briefly, the Apple had killed him and transported him here so that he would get a taste of the life he had been destined never to have when he was the Grandmaster of the Templar Order.

Although he wanted to devote at least some of his energy to trying to figure what had happened to his order, he didn't know if he should. By the way the woman had spoken to Ziio, Haytham figured Ziio and Washington had some past. Something that he held against the woman that was apparently Haytham's wife. And while the threat of King George Washington remained, he would devote his energies to protecting her and their unborn son.

The two, Ziio and Haytham, cantered down the slope and into the village sight. Ziio swung off her mount and set off at a brisk pace towards the largest of the fires where Oiá:ner sat with several warriors of the tribe. The old Clan Mother was speaking in low tones to the circle around her camp fire, and the warriors replied in the same low respectful undertones. Ziio burst in with the fury of a woman scorned. "You cannot use the boughs of the willow," she snapped. "You know of the dangers!"

The warriors exchanged glances and one especially brave one, Teiowí:sonte, rose to his feet, holding out his hands in a calming manner. "_Skén:nen_, Kaniehtí:io," he offered, "we must turn to the tea. We have run out of other options." He went to place a calming hand on her, but Ziio pushed him away.

"Neither I nor Haytham will take part in this," she vowed, grabbing for Haytham's arm. There was obvious fear in her eyes. He went with her until they were out of ear sight, but then he took his arm back and made a grab for her elbow, but she had alright gone off on a tangent. "What is the Clan Mother thinking?" she raged beneath her breath, shaking her head. She fell into her native tongue, pacing.

Haytham grabbed her arm and forced her to a stop. "Ziio," he said and she looked up at him. "what does this tea do?" He asked.

She shook her head, agitated. "It is dangerous," she said, her hands resting at his wrists. "Every time it is drunk, the one who drank it loses a bit of their mind. It is slow, but in the end, it will drive the drinker to insanity. I have seen it happen." She rubbed a hand across her face, and moved as though to begin pacing again, but Haytham held her in place.

"You and your people may have no other choice than to turn to this tea, Ziio," replied Haytham calmly, keeping her in one place. "Insane or not, there simply is not enough manpower to defeat Washington without it."

Ziio's eyes widened and she grabbed onto Haytham's arms. "You must not drink the tea, Haytham!" she said urgently, holding fast to his Mohican dress. "You must not!" A note of pleading desperation crept into her tone, a tone that he had never before heard from her - and had never expected to. He opened his mouth but she cut in. "I know what you are going to say," she said, her hands beginning to shake with how hard she was gripping the furs he wore, "you will say that to protect me …" she loosened her hold and let go, placing her now free hand against her belly, "and our child… You must do as the others do, but you do not have to. You cannot."

Haytham pried her hand off and cupped it in both his hands. "Ziio," he spoke gently, "I will not pretend to understand your fear of this tea, but I will tell you that -" He paused, "that, whatever happens neither you or our child will go unprotected. I will do what I can and if I must, I will not hesitate to drink the tea." He would rather be insane with both Ziio and the unborn Connor than be sane without them.

Her expression turned indignant. She stepped away from him, or at least tried to. He held onto her hand and as far as she could move away was the length of her arm. It hung between them, a symbol of her sudden mistrust in the man she'd married. She met his eyes, trying to stay strong. He hadn't asked her to stay behind, to not fight, but she could see it in his eyes. It was in the way he looked at her, eyes flickering between her and the slight bump in her belly.

"You cannot ask me to not fight with my people," she breathed.

Haytham's reply was casual. "I can." She stiffened and he tugged her to him, catching her shoulders. He placed his right palm at the side of her face. "Ziio, you are in no condition to be running out into open fire. I will not let you, lest you kill yourself and the child."

Ziio planted her hands against his chest and _shoved_. He stumbled backwards as he hadn't been expecting it. Now a few feet away from him, angry tears brimming in her eyes Ziio said, in a voice of steel, "Do you have no faith in me, Haytham Kenway?"

"You're being reckless," he shot back. "I will not let you run off into war when you're pregnant! Can't you see I'm doing this for your own safety? For the child's safety?" He crossed the space between them and put his hands on her shoulders. "For all that is holy, Ziio, sit this one out. I don't doubt your strength, I simply doubt that you understand your limits." Slowly and then all at once, she deflated. She wrapped her arms around him and he held her.

Something within him wondered if she was afraid. He knew, from Johnson, that the Mohawk would bless the mother when she went into labor, but there were only spiritual healers and if the mother bled out too much and died, they would take it as a sign from the spirits that the mother had been ready to die. Inwardly, Haytham shook his head. What mother would be ready to die as soon as their child was born? He sighed, and prayed that Ziio would not die in childbirth.

* * *

They'd returned to the hut they shared together, as there had been no attack on the horizon that evening. Though Teiowí:sonte, Haytham and the other warriors had agreed to take hour watch intervals in four person groups. Haytham had just returned to he and Ziio's cabin, from his uneventful watch with Shawennahawi, Kahionhaténion, and Aarushi when Oiá:ner came for him. He'd laid down beside Ziio, draped his arm across her waist and had begun to drift back into sleep when the Clan Mother's old wrinkled hand clamped down over his mouth.

His eyes leapt open and he grabbed for his knife. She hissed out a word - or maybe it was just a sound - equivalent to 'hush', her eyes flickering towards the sleeping Ziio. As Haytham slowly calmed, setting down the knife, Oiá:ner removed her hand, sitting back on her haunches. She watched him as he cautiously sat up. She offered no reply when he growled, "What do you want?" He opened his mouth to prompt her again but she raised a hand, the beads on her clan dress gently swaying.

"Peace, Haytham Kenway," she said in her raspy tones. There was something strangely comforting about her presence, though the old light in her eyes and the authority in her tone betrayed the strength she still held despite how old her bones were. "I come with an offer," she continued, watching him with those all-seeing eyes.

He narrowed his own eyes, watching her with distrust. "Go on," he invited, though some part of him wanted to tell her to get the blazes out the hut and leave he and Ziio in peace. He sent a glance at his sleeping wife. She was still asleep, a hand pressed protectively against her stomach. He turned his eyes back to the Clan Mother, who had been studying his actions.

"Kaniehtí:io has no intentions of drinking from the boughs of the willow tree, this you are well aware of. Her choices are her own, and your choices belong to you - and you alone. My warriors are meeting as soon as the sun rises to drink the tea so that we may have a chance at saving our homeland." She tilted her head, the unspoken inquiry on her lips.

This was his chance. This was his chance to prove that the idea that the tea caused insanity was ludicrous. He'd prove to Ziio that he would drink the tea and after would still be fine. He looked at her and frowned. But then, how would she react? She had made it blatantly clear that she wanted no part of it and that she wished him to take the same course of action. He pushed away his surge of doubt. He had to. He turned to the old woman, an unspoken 'well?' in her eyes.

"What would you have me do?" He asked.

Her eyes glowed even in the dim lighting. She inched out of the hut, beckoning to him. He got up and followed her out. She led him out across the deserted camp grounds and back to her own home. Many of the warriors were already there, crowded around a crackling fire. She gestured and slowly, Haytham lowered himself down beside Kahionhaténion. The Clan Mother took her seat at the head of the group and took up the small bowl. Within it, a liquid sloshed, but it did not spill.

Oiá:ner raised it above the fire. She murmured under her breath, eyes closed. Haytham knew enough about the Mohican cultural that she was blessing it, calling upon her spirit ancestors and asking them for guidance. Perhaps she was even asking that this tea not harm the brains of any of the warriors sitting around the fire, which seemed to grow at her words. It reached up towards the top of the hut, it's heat searing the faces of those sitting around it. None of them paid it any heed, even as a thin sheen of sweat shone on their skin.

The Clan Mother's chants grew louder, spoken in a language Haytham dared not try and replicate. He couldn't even say Ziio's full name, let alone a whole jumbled phrase of Mohican. Vaguely, he thought that he ought to remedy that, after all he was dressed like one of them now. He did share their beds, their food and now their fierce determination to protect what they loved. This new discovery just deepened his desire to drink whatever tea this willow contained and he found himself shifting with anticipation as Oiá:ner lowered the bowl and passed it to the warrior at her right; Aarushi.

The young woman brushed her beaded hair from her face and looked down at the tea. She took a breath, said something under her breath and took a sip. The bowl was taken from her by the next warrior, who did much the same. It had nearly made it to Haytham when Aarushi gasped. She coughed up some of the liquid just before her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell backwards, fire casting long rays of red light across her dark skin. Kahionhaténion and Shawennahawi dropped next, followed closely by Teiowí:sonte and Kanuna.

And then the bowl was in Haytham's hands and his heart beat accelerated and he tilted his head back and the liquid poured into his mouth. Then the bowl was gone, onto the next warrior and Haytham's stomach was protesting. His hands felt clammy and the room spun around him. The Clan Mother's face blurred, becoming part of the flames. He felt himself heeve, felt the liquid trickling down his chin; felt himself falling backwards as darkness rushed in and rendered him completely unconscious.

* * *

Haytham's coming to was slow. He felt weightless and the air around him felt empty, just as weightless. He had no idea where he was and pushed his heavy eyelids apart. The world around him came in and out of focus. He blinked and the area about ten feet in front of him finally came into focus. But beyond that, everything was still blurry. He grunted, blinking more, but nothing seemed to help. He took a step forward, and another foot unblurred. He physically stepped backwards in shock. His vision wasn't blurry, _the world around him was._

He turned in a complete circle, trying to recall what had happened. It came back in a rush. The fire, the chanting, the passing out - the tea. Perhaps he _had_ lost his mind and this was how he would forever see the world. This white landscape, void of weight or feeling. He took a step forward, and that's when he heard it. It came from behind him. It was a huff, low and tough. An earthen scent crashed over him, a scent of dirt and must. Another huff echoed around him and he stiffened. He'd finally placed the sound in his head.

He turned slowly, heartbeat once again picking up. Standing before him was a bear, easily as tall as he was on all fours. He stepped backwards and it rose up onto all fours. And it _roared_.


	3. onkwehonwehnéha

**A/N: Hello! I'd been writing this here and there, and I finally finished it up tonight. Honestly, I sort of rushed it because I'd been planning that last part for quite some time and I just really wanted to get to it. Hopefully, everyone here likes it! Since tomorrow's Friday and then the weekend's after that, I should have time to write up at least most - if not all - of the fourth chapter. Also, apologies because this chapter is a little bit shorter than the other two have been.**

**As a side note, the chapter name means "the native way". I thought it was appropriate because Haytham's realizing he's not exactly the Templar Grandmaster of the Colonial Rite anymore, but a member of Ziio's tribe. **

**As always: Please read and review! And I do not own these characters.**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE:** _onkwehonwehnéha_

The beast, it was bigger than any bear Haytham had ever seen, towered above him. The roar it had let out had been enough to shake the reality around him and for a brief moment, he questioned whether or not this blurred landscape was strong enough to withstand a noise that loud. Then, the creature slammed it's front paws down and the entire world cracked open. Haytham just barely avoided the opening by rolling to the side; the wrong side.

He was on the same side as the bear. He fumbled for a weapon only to realize that he had none. He took a step backwards, and it took one forwards. His breath hitched and he stepped backwards. His foot however, fell through empty air and he attempted to keep his footing, waving his arms about. He suspected he looked like quite the fool, but the thought was gone in the next instance as he went tumbling down the incline. Above him, the bear roared, and he could hear it crashing down after him.

Haytham scrambled to right himself, though the momentum wouldn't allow him to do anything other than tumble. He ended up landing face first into the white landscape, dirt and forest greenery attacking his sense. He spat the leaves the ground, scrambling to his feet. He knew he couldn't take on a bear, not without any weapons. He hated running. He had been taught never to run, but here he was, sprinting through a blurred world after drinking a strange liquid from a bowl that many others had already taken drinks from.

He _had _lost his mind.

As he was running, a memory attacked the edges of his senses. He saw no images, but he could _feel_ the memory as it came to the surface. It wasn't something he himself remembered, but this Mohican body seemed to recall it. He didn't have the time to question it, he had an angry bear on his heels. The memory was nothing more than the feel of Ziio's hand on his shoulder, her soft voice in his ear. "_Peace, love, she is as afraid of you, as you are of her. She must survive as we must. Her cubs need her, see?" _

Somehow Haytham knew what the memory was pertaining of. They'd seen a large female bear and he'd gone for a weapon, but Ziio had stopped him. The Mohican woman had calmly pointed out that the she-bear had children of her own and if she made a hostile move towards Haytham and Ziio it was only to protect the little cubs.

He understood what he needed to do.

Everything within him was screaming at him to keep running but he forced his feet to stop. He forced himself to skid to a halt and slowly turn around, facing the large bear that was barreling towards him. He steeled himself, waiting for it to plow into him. He waited for the pain that would come when it's bulk smashed into him and broke nearly - if not every - bone in his body. He did not close his eyes, just watched it come closer. He drew back from it, his heart nearly beating from his chest as it came to a stop right before him.

It's putrid breath was hot on his face and he fought down the urge to step back. It drew back and roared in his face. This time, Haytham did close his eyes and step away. The force of it blew the eagle headdress right from his head. He choked on the earthen scent of it's breath, stumbling slightly, his entire body aching from the fall and how fast he'd run.

When he opened his eyes again, the bear had risen onto its hind legs. It seemed to realize that he'd opened his eyes. He caught a flicker of it's eyes, glowing blue, as it slammed it's paws down. It's long talons tore across the front of his chest and he felt the shout rise in his throat. The force knocked him to the ground, his hand pressed to the marks. They did not bleed, instead they glowed the same strange blue as the bear's eyes had. He gasped, breath ragged, looking up at it. It's body was slowly fragmenting into a billion blue shards. He scrambled backwards, shocked as the bear's body exploded in a shower of the shards. They flew at him like a swarm of angry blue birds and he threw his arm up to shield his face as they hit…

* * *

Haytham jolted into sitting position. He chest ached and his breath tore at his throat as he breathed. His chest heaved, and his hand shook as he ran it back across his hair, gasping. It was then that he realized that someone was speaking to him. He looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Two hands roughly cupped his face and he met Ziio's concerned eyes. He grabbed her wrists, the feel of her hands on his face slowly calming him. Then he heard them; the screams. They were all around them.

"Get up, Haytham!" said Ziio, grabbing her knife, and pulling him towards the door of their hut. Vaguely Haytham wondered how he'd gotten back there. "Get up!" Her voice was panicked, the knife fumbling in her hands. She was afraid, afraid of losing everyone she knew and Haytham didn't blame her, but there was no way in hell that he was allowing her to leave their hut. He would not have her be hurt.

Haytham grabbed his weapons, placing himself in front of her. "Stay here," he barked, and then he was out the door, rushing out into the fray that had erupted in the center of the village. Kahionhaténion was beside him in the next instance and he glanced at Haytham and his eyes sparked blue and he leaped forward, an animalistic growl erupting from his throat, not much different from the growls a wolf made. Haytham forced himself to remain calm as he rushed forward to join the warrior.

Bluecoats were rushing into the camp at every possible direction and many of the huts had already caught flame. Haytham's first instinct was to rush back to the one he shared with Ziio and get her to safety, but he couldn't abandon her people. He had a duty now and whatever it took he would fight with them. He fell in beside Kanuna and the two attacked a hoard of five Bluecoats.

Haytham parried, ducked and broke the Bluecoats' defense with a well aimed kick to the knees. He plunged his sword through the man's back and out his front. He ripped it free and sliced the neck of the one that Kanuna was struggling with. She shot him a grateful look and tackled another to the ground, plunging her knife through his blue uniform.

Haytham turned back to the battle at hand as another two Bluecoats rushed at him. He parried to the right, shoving his sword through the neck of one. The other, a rather large male swung at Haytham with an ax and he barely managed to avoid it. The Bluecoat sneered and the ax crashed down against Haytham's sword, throwing the steel from his hands. He fumbled for a pistol, but didn't have a chance as the burly Bluecoat swung again, aiming to take off Haytham's head. He dodged to the right, turning and driving his fist into the Bluecoat's side. He _felt _the ribs shatter at the punch and he pulled back in surprise. His veins glowed blue and he instantly felt stronger.

Much stronger.

With the burst of strength fueling him forward, Haytham grabbed his sword and turned back towards the hoard of Washington's minions, cutting through them viciously. He felt the blood splattering across his skin, but he couldn't find a way to stop. These were his people now too, and he would not let anymore of them die. He'd stood by once, he was not going to do that again. Finally, he stumbled to a stop. His chest heaved, skin sticky with blood that wasn't his. The glow in his veins had subsided and he was feeling quite weak. His legs shuddered when he stepped forward and his throat felt raw. His sword clattered to the ground and he groped for something to hold onto. It was only now, in his moments of weakness, that he truly saw the destruction around him.

Bodies, both Native and Bluecoats, littered the ground. Gore and pain soaked into the dirt around him. Many of the huts had already burned down, their skeletons smoldering in pathetic heaps of wood. His eyes swept the blood soaked village, searching for something familiar, searching for the flash of Ziio's frame, the structure of their hut still standing proud. His eyes were frantic, searching for it even as his body protested at the thought of dashing through all the dead and dying.

Haytham pushed himself into a job, his feet making sickening squelches as he moved. He thought he called her name as he neared the burning hut, but he didn't feel his lips move. He skidded to a halt before it, heat searing his skin. This time, he felt it in his throat when he screamed her name. She wasn't there. He was sure. She couldn't be there. He spun in a wide circle, stumbling on his feet. He needed to find her. She was pregnant. He'd lost her once.

He couldn't lose her again and especially not when he had a chance to save her.

Kahionhaténion touched his shoulder. The other warrior was in much the same state as Haytham was. He looked ragged and exhausted, covered in blood. His eyes, however, were wild with bloodlust. "Washington is near the front of the village," said the Native, looking worried, "Kaniehtí:io is there as well." The words had barely left Kahionhaténion's mouth before Haytham had turned and sprinted towards the front of the camp. He couldn't even feel his legs anymore, they were numb. He hardly cared.

He needed to get to Ziio.

Haytham forced himself to stop when he got near, he needed to rest lest his legs gave out on him. He looked up from being hunched over, gasping for breath and he saw her. Riding in, sitting tall atop a large bay stallion was the Mad King; George Washington. In his right hand he carried a large staff. It emitted an unearthly golden glow, especially up at the top where the Apple of Eden sat in all it's glory. A moment of anger passed between Ziio and the Mad King. Ziio touched her stomach, grief passing across her face. George tightened his hold on the staff, a sneer lifting his lips. Then Ziio broke into a run and Washington raised the staff.

Haytham swore beneath his breath, breaking into a run. He skidded to a halt before Ziio, his back to Washington and the staff. Ziio yelped as she skidded to a halt, her body just about crashing into Haytham's. He caught her in his arms just as the Apple buzzed and a large bolt of unearthly golden light slammed into his back. A shout built in his throat and his legs buckled, the bolt being the last straw. His weakened body could take no more.

He fell backwards against the dirt, feeling the beats of his heart in his ears. His vision came in and out of focus. The last thing he saw before it all went back was the blur of his name on Ziio's lips and the frantic feel of her hands at his face...


	4. the passion and the pain

**A/N: Sorry for the delay, I've been busy with testing at my school and other things. But that's over now and hopefully I'll have another part soon. For the next few chapters, I'm going to explore Ziio's character and what goes on while Haytham is out. I have a few half-plans for it, but for now I'm simply throwing him back in time. Part of it is my desire to see how Haytham would react in a different time period with someone he'd been told about in his childhood, like Altair. So, buckle up and grab some popcorn, this'll get interesting! Also, if this goes according to plan you'll be seeing some other iconic characters! **

**As always: I do not own ****_Assassin's Creed_**** or any of its characters. Enjoy, and please read and review! Have a wonderful day!**

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**CHAPTER FOUR:** _the passion and the pain_

Time ticked forward around her, though she hardly paid it any mind. She cared for one thing and one thing alone. The sun sank into the west as it did every day, but she didn't notice. Life at the village went on as normal, healers tended to injuries and warriors thanked them one too many times, but she wasn't there to see it. Children slowly wandered back into the woods, eager to get back to their routine schedule of hiding and seeking in the tree surrounding their winter camp, but she didn't even hear their laughter. Their plight from their summer camp had led them there and everyone was settling in nicely. Everyone except Ziio. Ziio, who, never left her wigwam since her arrival.

When the fire burnt low, she let it. It was only when Kahionhaténion carried in an armful of logs to refuel it that she even realized it had extinguished. He was her constant companion in her wallowing. He brought her meals and coaxed the morsels into her mouth. It was he that urged her to stretch her legs enough to relieve herself, while he took up her silent vigil beside the unconscious body of Haytham Kenway. He muttered constantly, in his unresponsive state. He twitched and moaned, only calming to Ziio's gentle hum. His chest was bare, shining with a sheen of sweat. The scars across his chest were glowing faintly, the same blue glow that colored his veins, leading to the fist-sized burn at his heart.

At the current moment, a mere three days since the attack on the Mohican's summer camp, Ziio was seated beside Haytham, his head limp in her lap. She ran her fingers absently through his hair, humming an old tune beneath her breath. It calmed him, and so she continued. She slowly unthreaded her fingers from his hair with a sigh, tracing them across the blue light pulsing from his veins. "You must come back to me," she said to his still form. She placed her hand against his heart, feeling its thumps against the tips of her fingers. "You must."

The scuff of a boat on gravel brought Ziio's eyes away from Haytham and to the withered body of Oiá:ner. The old Clan Mother stood in the door of Ziio's wigwam, leaning most of her weight against her cane. Ziio gave a solemn nod in greeting and turned to Haytham once more. Oiá:ner cleared her throat and hobbled inside. She sat herself down beside Ziio. "You cannot remove yourself from the clan, Kaniehtí:io. Haytham will return to you when his spirit has fully healed."

Ziio's eyebrows met in an angry line. "What did you do to him?" she asked in a voice colder than steel. She turned her cold eyes to meet the eyes of the Clan Mother. Oiá:ner's features were unreadable as she straightened her back, laying her cane across her knees. She did not answer, instead met Ziio's intense glare with an impassive stare. Ziio's gut twisted in a burst of irritation. "You made him drink the tea," she accused.

The older shook her head, her voice low as though she were speaking to a child, "I did no such thing. He made his choices, child. Had you listened to us, perhaps we would not be having this talk." She pointed a finger, quivering slightly with age, at Ziio's stomach. "You are with child, Kaniehtí:io, and if you do nothing to contain yourself, you will get your unborn child and yourself killed." The Clan Mother's voice left no room for argument, though Ziio was sure that the old woman knew that Ziio would not back down so easily. She was stubborn, and Ziio was quite sure that everyone in the clan believed that her stubbornness would be her downfall.

Kaniehtí:io looked down at her swollen belly. She placed a hand against it and shook her head. "I am Kanien'kéha," she said, "with Washington on the rise, I cannot afford to sit idly by." This war was bigger than her, bigger than the child growing inside her. If they were to die, it would be but a small causality in the fight against insanity. She looked at the still expression on her unborn's father's face. He would understand. Surely, he would.

The Clan Mother's eyes were sad. "Look at me, child," she commanded.

Ziio raised her eyes.

"It is the tea that is saving his life. Without it, he would have perished instantly. You owe it to him to keep that child safe. Had he died, he would have died to protect you and it. I will not allow you to senselessly throw that away. Nor will he." The old woman dug the point of her staff into the ground and pulled herself to her feet. She once again met Ziio's eyes. "Kanuna and Teiowí:sonte have brought back a kill. I expect you will be joining us." And with that, she hobbled back out from the way she'd come in.

Ziio kissed Haytham's forehead and forced herself to comply. She slipped slowly from her wigwam, legs protesting at the sudden moved. She paused a moment to stretch her aching muscles from the hours she'd spent crouched by Haytham's side. She moved lightly towards where the others had begun gathering, eager for the meat that awaited them. After being served, Ziio once more forced herself to remain among her clanmates. She moved to join Kahionhaténion, Catori and Taini, taking a place beside Kahionhaténion, who nudged his body to the side to make more room for her.

Idle chatter broke out between the other three. Ziio kept to herself, munching absentmindedly on the elk. Someone spoke to her, bringing her out of her revere. She blinked and Taini smiled, white teeth flashing.

"How is Haytham?" repeated the younger woman.

Ziio shrugged. "There has been no change since we arrived," she replied.

Taini placed a hand at Ziio's knee. "He will come to," she offered and then her eyes caught the bulge in Ziio's belly and her eyes caught a happy light. "And what of that little warrior, hm?"

Ziio found herself smiling. She placed her hand at her stomach. "I believe he is progressing well despite the war raging around him." She sincerely hoped the child would be a boy and grow up like his father. Although she would enjoy a little girl, she figured that Haytham would rather their child be a male. The conversation wandered away from the child living inside Ziio to idle matters. Now, Ziio joined in now and then to offer her thoughts. When the sun was sinking, she retired to her wigwam, carrying with her a clay cup of water. She held Haytham's head up and helped him to drink.

In the moments she sat alone with him, she remembered many things. She remembered the conversation that had about names. "_It's Arabic for 'young eagle'," _Haytham had told her as they lay on their backs, looking up at the stars. "_And Kenway?" _She'd asked, leaning her head against his shoulder. He'd paused, searched through his memory and came back with: "'_Brave, loyal, fighter', if memory serves.' What about Kaniehtí:io?" _He'd looked at her then, his grey eyes staring at her as though she was the only thing that mattered to him. "'_Beautiful snow,'"_ she'd told him.

When he asked why, she told him how her mother had given birth to her in the middle of winter. She told him that although the winter had been harsh, the ice had hung perfectly from the trees and the snowflakes were like tiny crystals on the ground, none of them even close to being similar. She told him how her mother had seen the beauty of the snow and named her daughter after it's beauty. He'd chuckled under his breath and admitted that he didn't have a clue how his father had given him his name, though he speculated it had something to do with the fact his father had been an Assassin and that one of the Assassin's symbols was the eagle.

She cherished those moments close to her heart and she wanted nothing more than to see him smile again. She sighed and laid her head against his shoulder. She remembered a phrase her father had said to her before: "_Kaniehtí:io, the two emotions that will keep you alive are passion and pain. You cannot live without them. They are opposites, but you need them both to truly appreciation the other." _

_The passion and the pain, _she reminded herself.

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_The city was crowded, voices crowing in a language Haytham wasn't fluent in. He looked around, unsure of himself. Each face that passed him was even less familiar than the one before it. Each one bore the same expression: suspicion. He glanced down at himself, starting when he realized what he wore. White robes that reached his feet, where he wore uncomfortable sandals. They creaked as he walked forward, watching in amazement as the hidden blade on his right wrist shot out. His ring finger was gone; a sacrifice to the Creed. _

_Pausing he searched through his memories. Ah, yes. He looked up, shielding his eyes against the sun light. There, in the distance, sat Masyaf Castle, a spectacle even at this distance. He shook his head, continuing his walk through the crowds. He kept his head down, leading the hood cast long shadows across his face. This didn't make sense, though he suspected he should have stopped looking for things that made sense since he'd passed out in _The Restless Ghost_. _

Perhaps, _he thought, pausing, _this is an effect of the tea and I am losing my mind. _He didn't know what else it could be. He did, however, believe himself to be dreaming and hoped that this lucid state would help him in some way. He continued on forward, pushing away the thoughts swirling through his mind. He was dressed as an Assassin, he didn't see why he wouldn't be able to enter Masyaf. Though, as he neared he suspected he would have a harder time than he thought. _

_At the gates, a well-muscled Assassin lay in wait and in his right hand he held an Apple of Eden, it's light spreading strange patterns across his face. His lips lifted into a smirk when he spotted Haytham. "About time you showed up," he offered, eyes glinting in the mid-day sun. He gave Haytham no time to voice any words and instead pointed the Apple at him. With a surge of adrenaline, Haytham dove to the side, rolling into a crouch as the Apple's power slammed into the ground where he'd been standing. _

_The Assassin's face twisted in disgust. "Altaïr is not here to save your ass this time, coward." He raised the Apple again, but was not able to shoot at Haytham again for a blade erupted from the center of his chest in a spray of gore. His body trembled, Apple rolling from his hand, and his mouth worked but no sounds came out. The blade retracted and the body fell to its knees and then face planted into the sand. The blood soaked into it, startling against the paleness of the sand and the white of the Assassin's robes. Haytham's savior scooped up the Apple of Eden, pocketing it swiftly then straightened. _

_Now, standing over the body was another robed figure, though this was much older than the one that had just fallen. Older than Haytham was. He stepped forward and pulled down his hood, revealing a head of white hair and a face defined by wrinkles. He offered a smile that was friendly, but tired towards Haytham and that was when it all clicked. The Assassin standing before Haytham could be none other than Altaïr Ibn-la'Ahad. He beaconed Haytham forward and dumbfounded, he followed. Altaïr led him to the base of the stairs leading up the large Assassin's Den. He glanced towards his companion, once again shooting him that tired smile. _

"_Welcome, Haytham Kenway," he said in a deeply accented voice, "to Masyaf." _


	5. a lesson in control

**A/N: Surprise! I didn't drop off the face of the Earth! For the longest time, I didn't have any motivation to continue writing this. I wanted to, I just didn't have the muse required to actually sit down and write a chapter. But I've captured it for the time being. And so, here's the next chapter. ****This is by far one of the shorter chapters and I'm really sorry for that. I hope to have something up maybe tomorrow, though I'm not one-hundred percent sure. ****Either way, p****lease read and review! **

**As always. These characters are not mine!**

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**part two:** _the fire in my heart will burn me to the ground_

**CHAPTER FIVE: **_a lesson in control _

_The ground cracked beneath Haytham's feet, his eyes never straying from the figure that moved along slowly before him. He thought to say something, anything to spark a silence, to break the silence around them. But after another moment's consideration, Haytham realized he didn't mind the silence. Actually, the more he listened it wasn't complete silence. With the dirt shuffling beneath their feet, and the idle chatter of the assassins lining the path to Masyaf, he wondered how he could have ever viewed it as silence. _

_He turned his view skyward, Masyaf the only thing he could see now that they were nearly upon it. It towered into the sky, casting a long, powerful shadow across the ground. Every little crack in the fortress walls whispered words of the Assassins. The courtyard echoed with their enchantment. The wind rustling through the robes murmured: 'nothing is true'. The whistle of swords in the training area chimed with 'everything is permitted'. The shuffle beneath Altair's feet reminded Haytham, 'the Assassin's worked in the dark to serve the light.' And his own feet on the ground reminded him that he spoke only the words of the Templars: 'may the father of understanding guide us.' _

_And then Altair looked towards him as the pair entered the heart of Masyaf. The Templar Grandmaster saw no hate in the old man's eyes. Saw no anger, just the wise old eyes of one of the most famous Assassins. Haytham was reminded then, that in this world he fought for neither the Brotherhood nor the Order. Instead, he fought for Ziio and her people because they were what mattered to him. _

"_You've traveled a long way, Haytham Kenway. Come, sit." The Assassin waved a hand to the chair and Haytham stumbled to it, realizing how much his bones ached. Altair took a seat opposite him, easing his body into the chair before turning his attention not to Haytham but out the massive window across the courtyard of Masyaf. "I've lost much in my life," said Altair in his old gravely tones. _

_Outside the window, an eagle screeched and the sound reminded Haytham of the headdress he'd worn. His hand rose to the hood around his face. He tugged it down with a moment's hesitation. He was no Assassin. He may have been, once upon a time. But his father had been killed and his world had been turned upside down. Because of that day he was-_

_No. He wasn't in a Templar. Not here. Why did he have to keep reminding himself of these simple facts? No Creed dictated his ways, no Order controlled the way he was supposed to walk. A ripple went through him and he shook his head, glancing up at Altair. Their eyes met. "I want to go back," voiced Haytham. He needed to. He needed to finish this, to make sure that Ziio and her people stayed safe. _

_Altair's old lips curled and the area around his eyes crinkled. "Soon," he said, with a slow nod. "But first, you must listen." Haytham felt his face crease, but he offered no words of protest, so Altair went on. "Your blood has been tinted."_

The tea, _suspected Haytham. _

"_There are so many roads you could take, but I beg of you," a light of urgency caught in the old Assassin's eyes, "do not take that of power. It will tease you and it will taunt you, but you mustn't listen. Do you understand?" _

_Haytham nodded. Of course he did. He understood that the apple was a very powerful weapon, but there was no way that he would let it corrupt him as it had Washington. He rose. "How do I get out of here?" He asked. _

_Altair did not move. "It will all happen. In do time." _

_The younger of the two made a noise in the back of his throat. It was somewhere between a groan and a growl. As he began to pace, he heard Altair chuckle. "You will go no where if you cannot calm yourself," said Altair calmly. He wave a wrinkled hand towards the chair Haytham had previously occupied. Flustered, the Kenway sank himself into it. "Close your eyes," murmured Altair's voice, and it seemed to echo. "And think of home." _

_Home? He had to think for a moment. The first thought was Queen Anne's Square in London. Then the Restless Ghost, though it was hardly worth calling home. Then, the hut. The hut that steamed with warmth from a roaring fire. The hut that Ziio laid beside him in. A smile curled at his lips. _

"_Be careful, Haytham Kenway." _

_And it was on those whispered words, that Haytham fell. He fell two hundred miles and _jolted forward with a loud, surprised grunt. By the fire, a shape moved, surprise rippling across their features. The fire cast shadows across her lovely face, shrouded in surprise and the sadness that came with being alone while surrounded by people. Though, a grin broke through the shadows and before he knew it, Ziio had crossed the hut and her arms were secure around his neck. She breathed his name and his arms looped around her.

She smelled of the wilderness. It stuck to her as though it belonged to her. And in a way, it did. She knew every rock and every tree in the forest, could name them from memory. He had memories of it, memories of watching her with a half smile as she spoke. That broken twig meant a fox had trotted through. That bird was returning with food for it's young. Her knowledge was as endless as she was beautiful.

He leaned back to look into her eyes, his hands on either side of her perfect face. He brushed the tears from her eyes, concern slipping into his. "I had thought I lost you," she murmured into the air that they shared. He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"No," he breathed, shaking his head as he ran a hand through her hair. It was free from the braid today. It spilled down across her shoulders like a grand river. Feathers stuck from the back of it, and he ran them across his palm before looking back up into her dark eyes, the opposite of his grey blue ones. "No," he repeated, leaning his forehead against her. It felt as though he hadn't seen her in years. And that was far longer than he ever wanted to stray from her.

"You were asleep for months," she said softly, her fingers tracing across his now unshaven took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his eyes flickering to her belly. She followed his gaze and took his hand, placing it against the bulge. "Four months," she said quietly, "you were asleep for four months."

"I'm here now," he replied, tilting her head up. She nodded and he kissed her.

It was another few days before he was strong enough to actually move about. When that time came however, he spent most of it helping and filling in for Ziio. Thanks to her pregnancy, she was limited in her actions. He took her place in hunting expeditions, where he would recall memories of her teaching him to hunt and to climb. Of course, Ziio wasn't happy with any of it, and would often be found helping Kahente with herbs and healing. It was a peaceful rhythm that they had fallen into, but good things never do last for long.

On the third night, five months after the attack on the village, hell descended onto Earth. Demons took the shape of hundreds of Blue Coats, scouring the forest with torches and angry voices. The village was a wave of activity. Kahionhaténion and the other warriors were gathering themselves. Though Oiá:ner did not seem panicked. When the wave of Blue Coats came, they came not with bullets, but large shields that they used to push the Natives back, including Haytham. He didn't know what was going on, nor did the rest of the clan, who snarled and threatened the Blue Coats. Several of them dropped, but the army did not attack, just continued pushing them back.

And then there was Washington, riding in on his white stallion. Haytham ground his teeth together when their eyes met. Washington sneered and said something to a soldier to his right. The army stopped advancing and was turning around when Haytham heard the scream. He'd know it anywhere.

_Ziio. _

He shouted for her and surged forward. It took both Kahionhaténion and Teiowí:sonte to hold him back. A murmur went through the Natives as the Blue Coats pulled a struggling Ziio onto one of the horses. She shouted his name, her voice rising several octaves. He struggled against his captors. But they would not let him go. He watched in anguish as Washington's eyes fell on Oiá:ner, and something passed between the old Clan Mother and the Mad King. It was then that Haytham knew. Even with a whole vocabulary of profanities at his back, Haytham could not think of one powerful enough to hurl at the Clan Mother as the horses turned and trotted out of the camp.

His arms were dropped and he fell to his hands and knees. Something had happened when he was asleep. Something sinister that no one dared to speak of. But by god he was going to get to the bottom of it. If it was the last thing he ever did, he was going to find out the truth.

And then he was going to rescue his wife.


	6. the rift between us

**A/N: Forgive me for the long absence! I hope this chapter makes up for it! One of the longer ones, so settle down, maybe grab some popcorn. This is more of a chapter that sets the stage for things to come, though never fear, we do see a bit of action here in this one, along with more mention of this willow tea. Please read, review and enjoy! **

**As always, these characters are not mine. They belong to Ubisoft. **

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**CHAPTER SIX: **_the rift between us_

"What the _bloody hell_ was that!?" shouted Haytham, barging into the Clan Mother's hut, eyes red with fire. He had waited until the morning for two reasons. The first being, he had the naive hope that the entire thing was just a terrible nightmare and that when he woke he would have Ziio in arms. The second being, that he had planned to go about it in a civilized manner. So much for that.

Oiá:ner regarded him calmly and that only fueled the fire in his veins. He slammed his fist down on the map in the center of the hut. "I want answers," he snarled, "and I want them now." His eyes glittered dangerously, a hint of unearthly blue shimmering in his irises.

The Clan Mother held up a hand for silence when he went to speak again, but that didn't stop the growl of impatience from leaving his lips. "Take a walk with me," she said calmly, walking past him, the flap of the hut fluttering as she exited. He followed, fists clenching and unclenching as he did.

A wind rustled through the clearing, sending smoke towards the north, rising up into the sky like great buildings. It played through Haytham's hair, tied at the nape of his neck in twine. It brushed across his skin in a gentle, though chilled, kiss, as though attempting to put out the fire within him. It did no such thing, though he had to admit it did help to calm him, if just for a moment. No one looked at him as the wind traveled through, bringing with it the inevitable promise of winter. He was sure they felt as though he would strangle them much like he desired to squeeze the life from the Clan Mother.

She brought him to the edge of the camp and stood. "Do you see those children playing?"

She asked him, her voice now carrying a sharp edge. Haytham turned his eyes to the children, his eyes narrowed with the anger in his veins. He gave a curt nod and Oiá:ner went on, "I must protect my own, Haytham."

Haytham's eyes narrowed dangerously once more, the momentary calm shattering when the irritation rippled through him like a skipping stone across a still pond. "And what of _my wife_?" he snapped. "And _my child_? Are they suddenly expendable because you must protect the whole?" His fists tightened and he wanted to punch something. Mainly Oiá:ner's face.

Oiá:ner's face hardened, the deep lines of age cutting through her usually calm expression. "Feel the wind, Haytham," she commanded, raising a wrinkled hand into the stream of northern chill. "Winter is a rabbit's hop away and it is going to be a hard one. I can feel it in my bones."

He crossed his arms over his chest, no longer in the mood to listen to her prattlings. "And what, pray tell," he ground his teeth together, practically spitting the words at her, "does that have to do with my wife?" Ziio was the one thing binding him to this world, binding he and his sanity together and he feared for his mind if he lost her. If he lost her, than coming here had been for naught. The night before, as he'd lain awake, he'd figured that this was a chance to mend that broken relationship, to embrace the life he could - and should have - had. A life with his wife, and with his son… With Connor.

The old woman shook her head, looking unimpressed. "Kaniehtí:io sealed her own fate," she spoke grimly, her wizened gaze staring out across the clan, "the day she tried to steal the specter from Washington's grip. She sealed her fate, and your unborn child's fate the day she spoke out against what we must do to stay alive. The day she fell in love with the very people who pretend to speak words of peace only to drive a stake through your back."

"And you think the Mad King is going to keep his promises?" At that point, he had pieced it together. Washington must have promised safety and free roam of the forests, maybe even food in exchange for Ziio. He made no comment of the last bit, though he could tell she had aimed for them to cut deep. She wanted him to grovel before her, to apologize for breaking apart her clan, for stealing Ziio from her. He didn't, he had hoped she would know better than to expect that of him. Instead, he looked at her when she offered up no reply to his question. "Ziio made her choices," he said firmly, "and I have made mine."

He turned on his heel and strode back towards the activity in the camp. At his back, he heard the words: "What do you plan to do?" He paused and glanced over his shoulder, the fire in his eyes threatening to burn down the whole of the colonies until he found his wife. He did not answer, though the deadly smirk on his face and his hand at his rapier told the story without the need for words.

* * *

_The area shimmered and cracked around him. Trees blurred in and out of being and the leaves that hung from their branches were still. There was no breeze, there was nothing. It was as silent as a tomb, though Haytham knew better than to expect sound. This was the second time in a tea-induced landscape, and for some reason he felt as though he had been there hundreds of times. He felt strangely at peace, though something prickled through his senses and he paused, listening. _

_It was at that moment, where his concentration broke. He slid back into his own being, his own body and the first thought to dominate his brain was: _Why the hell was I sniffing the air? _He was quite glad he was alone in that moment, though his brain jumped to thoughts of his rag-tag gang back in his own period. He thought of what Charles would say ("Sir, is something wrong?"), of Hickey's slurred words ("Y'turnin' inta a mutt, 'Aytham?"), of Johnson, Pitcairn and Church's general indifference. _

_Then he was there. He was there in the Restless Ghost and his nose was on fire and blood drenched his front. His eyes widened and he panicked. _

_Then he was back in the blurring forest and the scent was tickling his nostrils again. He couldn't stop himself from breaking into a sprint. He felt alive. He felt the spirit morphing with his own. His legs pumped faster and he reacted quicker to obstacles. He could see further, spotting a tree before him miles before he was due to stumble upon it. He could hear the mice ravaging around in the forest, hear the breeze he hadn't thought existed brushing long tendrils through the trees. He could hear the blood roaring through his veins. _

_And then he could feel them. He could feel the pack close in around him, feel the grime from their coats as they brushed up against his knees. He was running with wolves, and his heart jumped into his throat for a moment, fearful that they would tear him to shreds. But none made any attempt, they ran with him, keeping his speed and never faltering. _

_He could run forever. He truly believe he did. He ran until he could no longer feel his legs, until he could hardly pull breath into his lungs, until he collapsed at the river bank, dipping his hands into the cool spring water and splashing it across his sweated brow. He cupped his hands, bring the water to his lips and drinking, feeling the presence of another wolf beside him. On instinct, his body tensed though he had to remind himself. Wolves were pack animals, and this wolf was apart of his pack. _

_After drinking what he could, Haytham turned towards the canine beside him. He wiped the drips from his chin and watched the creature lapping at the river water. Then he raised a hand. He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but the next thing he knew, his hand was on the shoulder of the wolf and it was staring at him. It didn't look at him as the strays in Boston looked at him, afraid and desperate for attention and food. It looked at him as if it _knew _him, as if it knew his entire life story, from his triumphs and ambitions to his failures and his desires. _

_It looked at him as if he were a part of it's pack. _

_It dipped it's head and butted his chest. He gasped, a rush of power rolling through his veins. Another head butt. He stumbled away from the creature, picking himself off the ground and clutches his chest. The shock between them had sent an agony unlike anything he'd ever felt racing through him. The wolf started towards him again, and Haytham held up a hand, shaking his head and sputtering. It did him no use, because the wolf leaped at him and Haytham shouted out as they collided. _

Haytham jolted upwards, eyes snapping open in time to see the glow leaving his veins. He blinked and rubbed a hand over his face, glancing down at the shattered bowl that had held the tea. He would clean up the shards later, he couldn't be bothered at the moment.

He rose with a grunt and rubbed a hand across his sweat slicked chest. An ache rushed away from the center of his breast where his heart sat and the Grandmaster shook his head with another grunt. He moved away from his cot to where he'd tossed his clothing. The firelight from the center of his tent cast flickering shadows across the scars that rippled across his abdomen when he pulled on his baggy shirt. He pulled up his pants, cinching his belt tightly. Then the cloak across his shoulders made from animal hide. _Wolf_ hide. He flipped up the hood, which morphed the wolf from the cloak with the eagle of the hood. The hook of the beak cast a menacing shadow from his hairline to the tip of his nose. The bear canines on the twine that lay at his collarbone clinked together as he stooped to gather up his rapier.

He unsheathed the blade with a hiss, inspecting the metal in the dancing fire light, then shoving it back into its scabbard with furiosity. He shoulders his bow and quiver, tightening the string to keep it steady across his shoulders. He made a move towards the entrance of his camp and then paused. Sitting over by the cot were a pair of twin bracers. They were simple leather, bearing no crests and no creeds. Though they were deadly, he'd hunted with them once. He retrieved them and slide them onto his wrists. The blades sprung out with satisfying _shings!_, and with a grim grin of satisfaction, Haytham stamped out the fire and exited the tent with a flourish.

He crossed the camp in even strides, his brow set in determination. He threw aside the flap of the only other tent illuminated by fire and stepped into the warmth of the circle. Teiowí:sonte, Kahionhaténion, Shawennahawi, Aarushi, and Kanuna looked up at his entrance and the stood at attention, their own expressions clouded with the adrenaline of the tea. He cleared his throat and crossed his hands behind his back, waving for someone to speak.

Aarushi gestured him to the map they'd drawn out. "Shawennahawi was at the camp earlier today," she reported, glancing at the other female before going on. "There are many guards, Haytham. Ziio is being kept as near to Washington as he can have her. If we wish to go in unseen, we must take the back route. It will take longer, yes, but it will be safer. Then we must find Ziio and free her and-"

"Vacate as soon as possible," put in Kanuna, leaning against the wooden end of her spear. At Haytham's slightly bemused expression the other warrior's eyes clouded. "Whatever is that look for?"

Teiowí:sonte swallowed and shook his head. "That's suicide, Haytham." Kanuna looked between Teiowí:sonte and the Grandmaster. Then it clinked and she began shaking her head. "Don't be ridiculous, Kenway," she voiced, still shaking her head.

Haytham's eyes flashed, sparks of blue flickering through them. "You all volunteered for this," he reminded gruffly, "we are a pack and you are to stand with me if you wish for revenge for your fallen brothers. Here we sit, arguing idly while Washington plots to keep the world under his iron control. We sit, arguing while my wife's life hangs in the balance." He looked at each them in turn, eyes narrowed, daring them to challenge him. "Are you with me? Or are you against me?"

The warriors exchanged glances amongst themselves then turned as one to face Haytham. A grin flirted with his lips as he turned on his heels. "Good," he said, "off we go then."

"And they told stories of him," murmured Aarushi behind him, "the fearless leader from another realm. Haytham Kenway, slayer of Kings and saver of the wild." He glanced towards her and she shouldered her pack of traps and poisoned darted and she grinned.

"Let us kill King Washington and end his tyrannical reign."


	7. these scars will bleed

**A/N: Once again I apologize for the long hiatus! It took me longer to get the muse for this than I would have liked, but I'm slowly getting the ideas back, so I hope to be able to crank out more chapters faster. Though, I promise nothing for my muse likes to appear and then disappear whenever it pleases, as most muses do. **

**I sincerely hope you all enjoy this chapter despite it's lack of actually getting them closer to killing Washington. I really wanted to explore the fractured state of Haytham's mind, so I took the liberty of experimenting with that in this chapter. That being said, I hope that the next chapter will be somewhat longer than the rest. We'll see though! **

**As always, I do not own these characters and please read and review! Thank you!**

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**CHAPTER SEVEN: **_these scars will bleed_

He was seeing ghosts.

Ever since they'd bedded down for the night, still some ways from Washington's central of operations, they'd been blurring through his peripheral vision. Sometimes he saw Altair, a stoic presence to his right, and other times there was Ezio Auditore, a blade in the crowd to his left. Once, he even swore he saw his father in his twilight years, with the ocean spray on his face and the wind in his hair. Now, his eyes were closed, an arm slung haphazardly across them to keep them closed.

"_Sir, here are the map- Sir! Are you alright?" _

_His eyes flew up and he picked himself off the floor in a hurry. He dusted off his garments, touching his nose with a wince. Dried blood crusted to his upper lip and he scowled at the feeling before realizing he wasn't sitting beside a fire, though standing in the middle of his room at the Restless Ghost and a very confused looking William Johnson was poised in the doorway. Pulling himself together, Haytham pulled a hopefully reassuring smile. "Perfectly alright, Johnson." Though his words were clipped and any sane man could tell he was definitely not 'perfectly alright'. _

"_You've got blood on your face, sir," replied Johnson, brow rising. _

_Haytham's mouth opened to explain exactly what happened, though he found himself unable. How could he possibly explain this when he himself was confused? Why was he here? Was he just hallucinating this entire place? _

_Or was the realm in which Ziio was alive just a figment of his imagination, a dream brought to life by the unceremonious way in which he fell unconscious? _

"_Sir?" Now Johnson just looked concerned, stepping further into the room, a crease between his brows. "What's wrong?" _

_Haytham sucked in a breath through his teeth, now able to feel the warmth of a fire against his clothes, though the hearth was not lit. His hands were shaking, he could feel them tremoring against his sides. "This isn't real," he said flatly, meeting eyes with Johnson, whose brow arched higher, if that was even possible. When the room he stood in didn't dissolve around him and give way to the forest he was quite sure he was sitting in, he felt his heart sinking. It couldn't have all been a dream. _

_Dreams didn't feel that real. _

_The Grand Master, feeling himself begin to slow unhinge, grabbed Johnson's shoulders. "This isn't real! Tell me this isn't real!" This wasn't like him, this distraught, panicked emotion coursing through his veins like fire. This was the opposite of what he was like, stoic, poised, always ready with a counter attack. _

_Johnson seemed taken aback by the other male's outburst, placing his hands on Haytham's wrists to pry the Grand Master's hands from him. "Sir, perhaps you ought to call in at Abner's," he suggested, speaking of the physician that had a shop nearby. _

_In response, Haytham growled through his teeth, turning on his heel and pacing back and forth. He could _feel _the flames' heat licking at his skin, though there was no fire. He could feel the garments of Ziio's people rustling about his feet, though he wore his Templar robes. He was so used to the weight of the eagle head atop his, that his tricorn felt odd and off balance perched there instead. _

_He felt more out of place here in this moment, than he ever had in Ziio's village. It was as though his body was stuck in one place, while his mind alternated between the two, fragmenting itself between the two. _Though_, he thought suddenly, pushing Johnson's concern from his mind_, perhaps this is all the effect of the tea. _He had been told it would drive him to insanity, and perhaps here he was, teetering on the edge of that cliff. One push could send him over._

_He snatched his hat, threw it down and raked his hands through his hair angrily. Damn this situation to hell and back! He needed to get to Ziio and he couldn't do that when he was stuck in the Restless Ghost with poor, confused William Johnson. _

_He needed to calm himself down, allowing himself to come unhinged wasn't going to help anyone. He paused his pacing and took a deep breath, allowing his eyes to flutter closed at least for a moment while he collected himself. He breathed in slowly and let it out in the same manner before opening his eyes. He offered a thin smile in Johnson's direction, who was still staring at him as if the old grand master had lost his mind. _

_If Haytham had to hazard a guess, he'd predict that Johnson was closer to the truth than either of them knew. Or cared to admit. _

_"Johnson," he said calmly, "if you wouldn't mind..." He cast a look towards the door. Johnson bowed and muttered out a 'sir' before vacating. _

_He turned back to his room, surveying it. His journal lays open and forgotten on the desk, along with several old novels from London. Maps cover the left side of the desk, strewn across with little care, though he thought back to the episode before he passed out and wondered if they were such a mess because of that, or if he really had just left in such a hurry that he were content with leaving them in such disarray. Absently, he rolled them up, his fingers moving as though programed by an outside force, his thoughts a mile away. _

_Then he stopped, freezing mid-roll. _The Apple_. The Apple of Eden was at the center of all this, he was certain of that. Perhaps if he found it here, it could transport him back…. He crossed the room in three long strides, stepping through the door and out into a crowded street. _

_He tensed, turning to look behind him. His room was just as it had been when he stood in it, though the sight before him was not the hall in the inn, it was somewhere completely different. He shook his head, officially believing that he had lost his mind. _

_Even though he'd never studied a word in his life, Haytham knews the people around him are speaking Italian, and he knew what they were saying. The woman to his left, was calling a young child back to her side and a male across the street was advertising his fresh produce. Diagonally from him, an old man with wise eagle's eyes was sinking himself into a bench, waving away a worried red head, and a child with a much darker shade of the same hair. _

_Haytham's body felt youthful. He no longer felt the ache in his bones, nor the tiredness of his eyelids. Though he also felt a strong coil of distaste in the pit of his stomach. The city was foreign and he felt out of place, not only in that body but in that time. Despite this, he walked forward, joining the old man on the bench. Words bubbled up from his throat and they were out of his lips before he could clamp down on his tongue. "_Il diavolo," _and even though the Italian felt off on his tongue, he knew what he was saying. 'The devil'. "I hate this damn city. I wish I was in Rome." The 'r' rolled off his tongue and he held in a cringe at the strange feeling. "I hear the women there are ….hmm." The next part of Italian rolled off his tongue and his brain faltered, jumping back for a moment. He felt the flames for the briefiest moments, though the next he was back in the Italian city (he still wasn't sure which it was) and he didn't have a clue of what he'd just said. Though he continued, "Not like here. _Firenze." _The word was spat out, and instantly it all clicked. He was in Florence, Italy, and if he was thinking correctly, he was sitting next to one of the next greatest Assassins after Altair; Ezio Auditore. _

_The voice of the old Auditore sounded beside him, deep and timbre, "Don't think _Firenze _is your problem." The Assassin didn't look Haytham's way, instead looked out at the crowds in the market place. Though the Assassin's voice held a tinge of pain, coiled beneath the words and in his throat. Then Ezio's throat seized and he drew in a sharp intake of breath, an obviously struggle to breathe. _

_Haytham's hand shot out to catch the older male's before he could stop himself. "_Coraggio, vecchio_," he said and this time the words ("Courage, old man") didn't feel strange on his lips as they curl into a small smile. Something passed between the two of them then, when Ezio turned and looked into Haytham's youthful eyes. It seemed to Haytham as though he had lived the older's enter life with him, just by staring into his eyes. He could feel the life force in the old man's body slowly shutting down, admitting that it had lived a good life and that it no longer had the oil left the pump away._

_A still veil of grief fell over Haytham as he gave a slow nod towards the other and a smile. Ezio's eyes flickered to focus on the woman and the girl and Haytham allowed his eyes to follow Ezio's, a feeling of serenity falling over him. It was as though he were feeling the old man's emotions. He was content, knowing that he had, had all the time he needed with the people he loved. Haytham wasn't a coward when it came to death, but he had never thought he would greet it like an old friend as Ezio had. _

_Now, he supposed he could, when it came for him. _

_Ezio's breath rattled in his chest and Haytham requested he get some rest as he pushed himself up, spotting a Templar cross-like mark sewn onto the right wrist of his clothing. He let his hand fall, patting Ezio's before getting up and walking a few paces, pausing to glance back at Ezio, who was smiling. _

_That was how Ezio Auditore died, with a contented smile on his face. _

_The girl (who had brown hair, Haytham realized upon closer inspection) raced across the courtyard, throwing herself up onto the bench beside Ezio, her little hands on his cheeks. The woman had dropped her basket, her steps more somber and slow. She lowered herself to her knees, one hand at her mouth, the other grabbing for Ezio's, desperate for the warmth it used to offer. She leaned her forehead against their jointed hands, her eyes firmly squeezed shut. _

_As Florence faded away around him, Haytham felt the presence of three words in his head. Liberty. Time. Love. _

_And he fully understood each one, how they were to be the foundations of his life, how they had been the pillars of Ezio's life. _

Kahionhaténion had his hands on Haytham's shoulders when the elder came back to himself. He jolted into sitting position when he realized there was someone there, mere inches from his face. The Native, rocked back onto his heels, scrutinizing Haytham. "You were far away, Kenway," he said calmly, a smile stretching his features. "Welcome back." He pushed a mug into Haytham's hands, a clay mug, warm to the touch.

Haytham blinked as Kahionhaténion released him. He took a swig of the tea (it was not the tea of the willow, thank the lord) to wet his dry throat. "What happened?" he questioned, his voice scratchy in his throat. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose against the headache building behind his eyes.

Kahionhaténion's hide covered shoulders bobbed with a shrug. "How can I know? I did not see what you saw, and I am quite certain you saw something. You were not yourself and more than once, you murmured something in a language I did not understand." His head tilted to the side in curiosity. "What did the tea show you?"

He recounted his tale to the best of his abilities, of how he had first appeared in his rooms at the Restless Ghost and then how he'd exited into the streets of Italy ("a city across the ocean" as Kahionhaténion described it) and met a man he'd only heard legends about in his dying moments. Kahionhaténion had pondered on that information for a few long moments before accepting it with a slow nod. He patted Haytham on the shoulder. "You should rest," he suggested, "when the sun rises, we kill the Mad King."

Praying his sleep would be dreamless, Haytham downed the rest of the tea and heaved himself up off the stump and crossed a few paces away, laying down in his furs and closing his eyes.

Sleep came easily despite the activity within Haytham's brain.


	8. we could leave the world behind

**A/N: I'm not going to say much, because my reasoning for being so slow with this is the same as it's always been; school got in the way. My hope is to continue when I go on break next week. But for now, have this. The chapter following this will be the last chapter in part two. As always, these characters are not mine and please read and review. Thank you.**

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**CHAPTER EIGHT: **_we could leave the world behind_

Frost dusted the barren winter forest when they awoke. Overnight the cold had seeped into their bones and the entire pack had a hell of a time trying to warm themselves up. Even bundled in furs before the crackling fire failed to bring the warmth they desired. They ate their share of the berries that Kanuna had packed, though went without meat as Kahionhaténion and Teiowí:sonte had been unable to track down any rabbits in the time they'd been allotted by Haytham and Aarushi.

Thanks to their slow start that morning, the sun was already quite high in the sky when they set out, which led to anxiety on Haytham's part, who (needless to say) was itching to save his wife from the clutches of a self-proclaimed king.

From her spot in the back of their group, Kanuna could see Aarushi was shivering. Her skin was pale and her eyes had been bloodshot all morning. It was clear that the other woman had not gotten a wink of sleep, and if she had it was a very troubled sleep. Kanuna knew Aarushi had, had several more doses of the tea than the rest of them. If her memory was correct, Aarushi was up to five visits into the other world, while the others were only at two, but would be onto their third that night.

Watching her friend with concern, Kanuna shook her head, long dark hair swishing across her lean shoulders. She knew Aarushi felt as though she needed to make up for something, probably the fact that she was shorter than and not as strong as the rest of them. She quickened her pace so that she walked beside the other woman. "Aarushi," she began and the wild eyes of the other flickered over, causing Kanuna involuntarily to flinch. She raised a calming hand and placed it at Aarushi's shoulder. "Do you need to stop?" Aarushi's head shook in a 'no' though her eyes spoke volumes.

"Haytham!" Called Kanuna, making up her mind, "Haytham, we need to stop." The leader of their pack craned his head back at her, eyes narrowing slightly. Aarushi was murmuring quietly, saying that she was fine though Kanuna doubted that.

She moved up towards Haytham as the rest of their group slowed to a stop. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Haytham," she said in low tones, "Haytham, look at her." His eyes flickered towards where Aarushi had bent forward with her hands on her knees. "She is not well," pressed Kanuna, her eyes flickering across Haytham's face, watching his resolve crumbling.

"Fine," came his gruff reply, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. "We rest for-"

Aarushi let out a blood curdling scream behind them.

Kanuna spun on her heels and raced across the semi frozen ground. She dropped down beside Aarushi, grabbing the other woman's shoulders. "What is it?!" She exclaimed, fear seeping through her veins, as Haytham and Kahionhaténion appeared over her shoulder. She heard Teiowí:sonte and Shawennahawi's approaching footsteps as well, though Aarushi was her only current concern.

The other woman was trembling beneath Aarushi's hold, her knees having given out. Her head hung forward, low whimpers leaving her lips. Kanuna drew her closer, cupping her face and tilting her head up. She whispered Aarushi's name, despite the other's unresponsive state. Their foreheads touched together and Aarushi flinched at the contact, though Kanuna did not move.

"Please," pleaded Kanuna, "speak to me. Tell me what ails you…" They had been children together, never able to be parted. Kanuna couldn't imagine a day where she didn't see the other woman.

Aarushi peeled her eyes open, though they were cold and distant, cut apart with strands of color, looking much like blue lightning. She shoved Kanuna (who gave a cry) away with cruel strength and launched to her feet. Than, she was off, charging through the forest at a speed no normal human could possibly possess.

Kanuna, helped by Shawennahawi, scrambled to her feet. She made to follow and was grabbed at the arm by Haytham, whom she shrugged off and plunged into the woods after her childhood friend. "Aarushi!" She shouted, pumping her arms and hoping to gain the speed the other woman possessed. She chased the other woman through the trees, hair flying out behind her in dark waves. She shouted her friend's name again, and was just starting to gain on Aarushi when someone grabbed her from behind and pulled her back against a tree, pressing a hand to her mouth.

She struggled beneath Haytham's hold. "I need to help her!" she cried, words muffled by his hand.

"Listen to me," he hissed beneath his breath, "there is a patrol headed this way, they see us and we're dead. Now you're going to be quiet and not get us all killed."

"They'll kill her!"

Haytham didn't answer, just held her more firmly against the tree. She stopped fighting after a few minutes, her eyes squeezed shut and small tears tracking down her face. Kenway's hand was still firm against her mouth. Voices sounded over the rise, muffled words that held no meaning though they soon faded away into the forest. Just as Haytham was starting to relax, there was a scream, angry voices and then

_Bang!_

Kanuna's legs buckled, a silent cry of agony on her face. She leaned forward, her head resting in her hands. Her friend had overused the tea, had turned to it to make her stronger, and now Aarushi was dead.

X X X

Kanuna was silent for the rest of the day, trudging through the forest behind Haytham and the others. The incident with Aarushi had troubled him greatly. Is that what lay in his future? Insanity? Death? He couldn't afford either of those and as they prepare the batch of the tea that they would consume that night, he took a deep breath and prayed that his life would not end in the same way that Aarushi's had.

Before tipping back his cup, Haytham took a deep breath. He swallowed the liquid in his cup with one gulp.

_A screech sounded through the air and Haytham looked up in time to see a eagle soaring through the trees. The light caught in it's feathers, filtering through them and glaring down into Haytham's narrowed eyes. The bird seemed to glance back at him with it's cryptic glance as it flew deeper into the forest. _

_Haytham took off in pursuit, running up a fallen tree branch with instincts he never remembered having. He leaped from tree to tree, branches scratching at his arms though he didn't feel the pain. He almost felt like he was flying, moving through the trees without a care in the world. Normally, he would be teetering from one side to the other, seconds away from falling to his doom. Here, however, he was apart of the forest. He wasn't worried about the branches breaking beneath him or loosing his footing. Everything felt right, as though suspended in an unbreakable moment. _

_It was like running with the wolves all over again, though this time he sincerely felt as though he could grow wings and take flight like the eagle he was in pursuit of. That, however, did not happen and soon he was on flat ground again, hands on his knees breathing heavily. He was not nearly as winded as he would have been normally, though he was heaving quite a bit. He straightened, huffing and turned his attention to the eagle which was circling above him. _

_It was a beautiful creature, soaring through the trees. It screeched again and Haytham's lips curled. He leaned back against a tree, watching it's slow spiraling descent towards the ground. He was sure he knew what was coming. They would collide, and its spirit would fuse with his. He would be a vessel for the three animal spirits, it's blood tainted with the residue from his old life. Perhaps that would explain the scattering of worlds he experienced. This body had been damaged, or perhaps it was his old body that had been damaged, by some experience and they had all begun to merge together in one large clump, never to be correctly sorted out. _

_The eagle halted in its progress, suspended in the air before him, flapping its large wings. Their eyes met and Haytham felt emotion he'd never felt before. This animal held wisdom even he had never felt in its eyes and he scarcely knew how to comprehend it. Never before had he been so touched by simply looking another being in the eyes. He was so overcome that he hadn't realized the bird had climbed back into the sky, circling a few feet above his head. _

_As soon as he lifted his head, the bird screeched and dived downwards towards Haytham's face. Despite knowing he would not be harmed, Haytham threw up his arms as the bird's talons reached out towards his face… _

Haytham sat upright. He felt different, off somehow as though a part of him was still floating away in the dream world. He blinked, shaking his head in attempt to clear it. All around him he could heartbeats. The hurried ones of his still dreaming companions and the rapid ones of rabbits and squirrels skittering about the forest floor. When he blinked, he could see further, in more detail and when he strained, he could hear the smallest crinkle of the leaves. Within himself, he could feel the strength of the bear, coiling like a snake in the pit of his stomach, just ready to be unleashed.

And as always, in the back of his head hummed the voice of reason, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his late father.

_The tea is driving you mad, Haytham._

It took him a moment to realize that the words had actually been spoken aloud. At first he thought he'd been the one to say them, though the voice hadn't been his. It had distinctively been his father's. He rose to his feet, though his mind screamed at him that this wasn't real. That he was still asleep and that his father was not calling to him from within the forest.

He had to know for sure though.

He moved away from his companions, his feet silent on the frosted ground. He paused, listening. He heard his name and he turned to the left, his heartbeat quickening. This time the voice sounded like Jenny and his steps quickened. He called his sister's name, listening to the wind but hearing nothing but the crack behind him. He swung and there stood the white haired assassin he'd killed in the theater. Miko.

_We could have found another way,_ whispered Miko's voice on the wind, a rose of blood blooming in the center of his breast, right where his own stolen blade had pierced him. His body fell away in flakes of snow, blasting past Haytham with frigid temperatures. The later, stumbled backwards, his hands shaking. "I'm sorry," he heard himself saying as he had the day he took Miko's life so long ago in the Theatre Royal. The same place he had visited with his father and Jenny to see The Beggar's Opera, ironically the same play in performance the day he killed Miko.

The opening chords echoed through his mind, his father's voice strong and firm in his ears. _Hey, I'm not so old as that! But, if they do, then we shall quit this posh gig and go and meet your mother for some chocolate at White's. How does that sound? _He had not recalled that memory in some time, the one he remembered most of his father was the one of the sword through his chest, mouth gaping like a fish out of water desperately trying to breathe.

He felt the cool ground on his knees before he had even registered that he'd fallen. There were too many voices in his head, too many words and places and times. He couldn't understand even understand all of them. He heard Connor's voice, hardened in anger at him ("_Oh, you're sorry? I found my mother burning alive. I'll never forget her face as she sent me away. Charles Lee is responsible for her death, for your order. And you're _sorry_."_), he heard Charles' voice and Hickey's and Church's and Johnson's and Pitcairn's all blurred together in one big mess. He heard his father's and he heard Jenny's and Holden's and Reginald Birch's. Above it all, he heard Ziio.

He shouted her name, wrenching himself to his feet. It was his shout that silenced the madness in his head. It was his shout that nearly drowned out the sound of hurried feet approaching. He turned quickly only to come face to face with Kahionhaténion who looked worn and concerned. The black paint across his left eye was smeared and in disarray, his mohawk grown longer and the feathers sticking at odd angles.

"We woke to you gone, sir," said Kahionhaténion, voice heavy with exhaustion. "Then we heard your shout. I came right away."

Haytham dusted brush from his clothes, stepping past the Native. "You needn't worry," he responded, walking back towards camp, though his own episode had frightened him. He'd had no concept of time or space. He couldn't even grasp the thought that some of the people whose voices he was hearing were dead. "I fear the tea hadn't worn off yet, no cause to worry." At this point, he wasn't sure whom he was trying to convince, Kahionhaténion or himself.

The native looked like he wanted to press but a weary look from Haytham stopped him and he dipped his head, catching up to the other and together they walked back to the camp in silence. The others were no worse for wear, looking quite similar to Kahionhaténion. To ease their tired minds, Haytham took up first shift and sat far into the night gazing into the fire and wondering what the hell he was doing out here in the woods.

Yes, of course to rescue Ziio and free the colonists from the Mad King's rule but with all the unexplainable happenings, he had to resort to his thoughts when he first arrived. Was any of this even real? Or had he sincerely lost his mind in more worlds than one?


	9. now we watch it fall

**A/N: I have a lot of excuses as to why this chapter wasn't up earlier (hey, it's pretty long). But I'm going to put them at the bottom with the large author's note that I'm about to go and write. So, stay tuned.**

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CHAPTER NINE: now we watch it fall

This was it.

Every footstep led up to this moment and Haytham could feel it weighing down his already burdened shoulders. Each step had brought him closer to Washington's camp, a strange sensation urging him forward. It was almost as if a thread was attached to him and what lay before he and his pack there. Though it all but vanished when they arrived, huddled down against a ridge, staring down at the roaring campfires and strangers in blue coats. From his vantage point, Haytham could have sworn he saw a ghostly figure dancing in the flames, red hair splaying out behind her as she moved. At first he thought it was a dance, then realized it was a deadly dance, a bullet shooting from her pistol in a burst of smoke.

Then it was gone.

He shook his head to drive away the hallucinations, feeling a tug to the right. His eyes jumped over and he saw the flap to Washington's tent flutter and the man himself stalked out, staff glowing even in the midday sun. Haytham's eyes were caught on the Apple for a moment, almost reveling in it's beauty.

He was broken from his reverie by Teiowí:sonte's voice at his shoulder. "What is the plan?"

Haytham looked out at the camp and then up at the sun above them. "We need to wait for cover of darkness," he responded, glancing towards Teiowí:sonte and the rest of them. "We must maintain the element of surprise." Without it, they had nothing. They were incredibly outnumbered, even with the added strength and stamina from the tea.

"Which direction should we come at them from?" questioned Shawennahawi, turning her head so that the eagle feathers sticking from her long hair shifted. She glanced back out at the camp, eyes widened slightly.

Kanuna, from her perch on a tree stub behind them, said, "We are going to die, Kenway. If this does not kill us than the tea did, just as it killed Aarushi." She kept her eyes on the arrow head she was sharpening, ignoring the several pairs of eyes that had just looked back at her.

Kahionhaténion frowned, the motion creasing his brow. "We must try, Kanuna. Even if we die, we die killing a tyrant."

"A noble death," murmured Shawennahawi, still looking out at the hordes beneath them. She was obviously not expecting to make it out alive. She moved a hand to the talisman hanging at her belt and held it in her hand. Her eyes closed and her lips moved, no sound coming from them. She was praying.

"We knew the risks," Teiowí:sonte reminded, crossing his muscled arms, "the moment we drank the tea and followed Haytham on this journey. If we back out now, what sort of warriors are we?"

Kanuna now glanced up at them, rising. "We are fools," she told Teiowí:sonte, ramming the flats of her palms into his chest when he dropped his arms. She turned furiously on Haytham. "It is your naivete that brought us here! It is your stupidity that killed Aarushi!" She was gearing up to say more when Teiowí:sonte grabbed her, putting his large hand over her mouth.

"You are the fool," he hissed beneath his breath into her ear. "You raise your voice any louder and every living creature within miles will hear. Even as it is, you may have jeopardized the entire mission."

Haytham sighed, running a hand back through his hair, knocking the headpiece astray. "She's right," he sighed once more, looking up at his soldiers, making eye contact with each and every one of them. Kahionhaténion opened his mouth to say but Haytham raised a hand and the other closed his mouth. "Our odds of succession are hardly great. However," he put a specific bite in that word, making eye contact with Kanuna, "we have made it these far and the entirety of the colonies is paralyzed at the thought of crossing King Washington, if we don't than we may live for years beneath his reign until some other jobbernowl plucks up the courage to try and stop him!"

There was silence for a long moment; all of their eyes were on Haytham. Then, Kanuna bowed her head. "You're right," she murmured in a voice that betrayed her lack of excitement about his being right.

"Good," sighed Haytham, crossing his arms beside his back and walking back to survey what they were up against. "Now," he began, clearing his throat, "where were we? Ah, yes. We must wait for the cover of darkness to infiltrate the fort." He crouched at the edge of the treeline, beckoning the others to join him. Shawennahawi appeared at his right shoulder with Kanuna behind her while Kahionhaténion and Teiowí:sonte took up the area at his left.

"Shawennahawi," said Haytham, "at dusk, I want you to silently take out any lookouts around the perimeter of the camp and then join up with Kahionhaténion and Teiowí:sonte. Do not let yourself be seen." She nodded, eyes narrowed in determination. He turned to the brothers. "Take the south side. If you are seen, you put all our lives in jeopardy." They nodded and Haytham glanced back at Kanuna. "You and I will take the north entrance. We take out who we can silently and then we go for Washington at my signal."

"What should we listen for?" Asked Kahionhaténion.

Haytham glanced up at him and then at Shawennahawi. "A owl's screech."

Her lips turned up into a sinister grin.

X X X

Everyone had always called Shay Cormac an idealist, before the rise of the Mad King Washington. After? He was just plain nuts. Off his rocker, some said. There was no room for freedom fighters in a world run by a man who could reduce you to a mindless husk with a flip of his wrist. Though, all talk aside, it hardly meant much when said freedom fighter wasn't actually doing any freedom fighting. Instead, the freedom fighter in question was trapped within the thrall of the one he'd previously spoken out against, in a vain attempt against tyranny.

Washington had leverage against Shay, and it had taken only one threat to make all thoughts of killing the tyrant fade away. And so, he'd spent the last few months patrolling the forests, acting as Washington's personal messenger and doing a whole assortment of odd jobs about the camp whenever he was needed. No one trusted him there, save perhaps Washington who seemed to know that Shay wouldn't harm a hair on his head as long as the tyrant continued to remind the former freedom fighter that there was still a trigger-happy moron of a sniper trailing "his woman" about.

As a regular at the tavern just outside the boundaries of their camp, Shay needed only to wave a hand and a mug of his drink of choice would appear in his outstretched palm. He downed a few swallows, breathing out heavily when he set it back on the counter. Behind the bar, Christopher Samson arched a brow, favoring Shay with a pitying smirk.

"Long day?" He asked, brow arching.

Shay grumbled, "Long don't even begin to cover it."

Samson snorted out a laugh, shaking his head. "Better be headin' out," cautioned the elder man, "Wasin'ton's gonna be wonderin' where ye got off to. And if you ain't around when he needs ye…" He whistled through his teeth, shaking his head. "Good luck t'ye!"

A glint caught in Shay's eyes when he raised his head. "I keep telling you, Samson, I make my own-"

"Yeah, yeah." Samson waved his hand dismissively, pulling a face. "Ye make yer own fuckin' luck." He jerked a head towards the door. "Go on, git outta here."

Shay chuckled, dropping his pay onto the counter and sliding off the chair and making his way to the door. He entered out into the cold evening air and cut back through the streets towards the camp. He walked quickly, but casually. If anyone saw him, they'd see a man determined to reach his destination and would think nothing of it. Though, he could have been running full sprint and no one would have paid him much heed, courtesy of the signature blue coat that marked him as one of Washington's men.

He did not make it back to camp the way he'd been planning.

Night fell upon him quickly and suddenly and he'd assumed the faint rustling of underbrush was attributed to the wintery breeze or small animals scurrying home. It never crossed his mind that perhaps he was losing his touch or that he'd drank one pint too many or that there was any possible chance that someone could be working their way towards him, hidden blade drawn.

His heart attack of the evening was thanks to the latter.

He was grabbed from behind, hauled backwards and slammed against a tree with one hand against his mouth and a blade to his throat in mere seconds. In the darkness, he could just make out the features of his captor. Although his skin was much too pale to be a Native, he wore the clothing of the Kanien'kéha, equipped with a large eagle's headdress and all. When he spoke, it only confirmed Shay's suspicions that this man was not of the Kanien'kéha, simply an allied force; evidently a force to be reckoned with.

"This could go one of two ways," said Shay's captor, voice cool and British. "I can slit your throat here and now, or," the man paused, looking at Shay as though they'd met before, "you work with us and help me do what I came here to do." He paused again, expression unreadable. "I, myself, prefer the later, don't you?"

Shay glared at him, giving him a hard shove backwards. The other man seemed to be expecting it and had his pistol drawn and against Shay's forehead before he could blink. Shay's glare deepened and he slammed the barrel away. "If you'd have let me get a word out," he snapped, "you would know I'm, in no way, keen to throw myself on the chopping block for our beloved king." Near the end, he couldn't help the thick sarcasm that coated his words.

The other male's lips quirked up in a smirk. "Now," he practically drawled, "shall we?" He waved a hand forward, replacing his pistol at his belt.

Shay glared at him. "If you're here to kill Washington it won't work. It wouldn't surprise me if he already knew you were coming."

His companion smirked and for the first time, Shay noticed the woman sticking to the shadows behind him. She, unlike the man, was obviously Kanien'kéha. Her skin was dark, sporting a few feathers, as was her hair which was loose about her shoulders. She held a spear, its tip serrated and dangerous, in a white knuckled grip.

"We're not looking to come in and out unseen," said the woman, watching with distrust. "For, if the stars are aligned, there will be no evil eyes alive to see our victory."

Shay's brows arched. "Yeah? The two of you are going to be the ones to kill Washington?"

"We are not alone," replied the woman.

Shay opened his mouth to tell them not to waste their strength when the man cleared his throat. "Enough talk," he said, irritation rippling through his tone. "Show us to your camp."

And against his better judgment, Shay did.

X X X

It was strange, seeing Shay. Of course the Irish born New Yorker didn't know Haytham, though Haytham had not been expecting recognition. Haytham hadn't seen Shay in years, and coming upon him in the woods had been a shock, to say the least. In his world, he was not sure what had become of the other Templar and mentally noted to perhaps write him when - if - he returned. He pushed those thoughts away as he, Shay and Kanuna made their way towards Washington's camp.

As they drew closer, Haytham banished any doubts he had to the corners of his mind and instead glanced towards Kanuna and nodded. They'd already taken out the lookouts they'd seen and were sure the others had done the same, as no alarms had been raised. At his nod, Kanuna cupped her hands about her mouth and made a screech, likeness to that of an owl.

Haytham turned towards Shay. "Washington captured a woman," he said, "show me where he's keeping her." He prayed the other man knew.

Cormac's brow creased for a moment. "The Kanien'kéha woman?" He asked and at Haytham's nod he shook his head. "Washington never lets her out of his sights."

Kanuna glanced over. "Well," she said, "we'll have to make him." And with that, she was off towards the camp, moving through the trees towards the sounds of surprise and of battle that had broken out below. Haytham was just behind her, and came up just in time to see the blue spreading through her veins like an otherworldly parasite. Her movements were catlike, graceful almost as she slit the throats of unsuspecting Bluecoats and shoved her spear through those that were suspecting but stood no chance.

The look on Shay's face told Haytham that they had a chance. "There's Washington's tent," he nodded at the large one at the center of the camp.

Haytham glanced over before launching himself out of hiding and took down a man with Teiowí:sonte in his sights. The Kanien'kéha nodded thanks in Haytham's direction, his veins glowing as well before he spun off, striking true like a viper. "Take me there," he shot at Shay and the other man nodded. Together, they dove into the fray, hurtling themselves at enemies. At one point, they fought back to back with a synchronization impossible for two strangers.

As Haytham's fought, his blood sang. He had never before taken pleasure in killing, though he'd always been good at it. Now, however, every time blood splattered and a body slumped to the ground, he felt a strange acceleration from it. It was more than the adrenaline of the battle and was more like an animalistic desire for revenge. Shay had to wrench him away from the act and pull him towards the tent when there was an opening. And despite Haytham's need to rescue his wife, a part of him felt discouraged at leaving the fight.

Though the feeling didn't stick around long.

From the tent stepped Washington, face tight with anger and knuckles white on his golden staff. His eyes fell on Haytham and on Shay and a sneer curled his lips. "I should have known," he growled, the staff rising. The Apple lit up from where it sat on the top of Washington's staff, casting a golden glow across the tyrant's face. "I hope you and your pathetic wife said your goodbyes," he said and snapped his wrist.

There was a golden blast, a bright flash that would have blinded Haytham had he not thrown his arms up and shut his eyes. A great weight crashed into Haytham, who in turn smashed into Shay and sent them both sprawling to the ground.

Shawennahawi lay where they'd been, body smoking from where the blast had taken her right in the chest. The pulsing blue lines throughout her body were slowly fading with the warmth of her skin.

Haytham surged to his feet, heart hammering at the anticipation of a fight. "Find Ziio," he growled to Shay, "and get her to safety." Shay kept one eye on Washington as he rushed off, though he'd obviously wanted to stay, for reasons unknown to Haytham as he clenched his jaw. He threw himself forward, pulling his pistol. He squeezed the trigger and the shot cracked the air at the same time he dove to the right, narrowly avoiding the attack by Washington's staff. He rolled to his feet, feeling the tea's power leaking into his veins and igniting his heart and the animalistic instincts inside him.

His sight sharpened and his eagle eyes searched for a chink in Washington's armor. His breath stabled and the bear within him wished to attack with brutal force. The wolf whispered that if he were quick, and if he called on his pack, he could do it. No, they could do it. His mind sharpened and he threw himself into another attack, pistol smoke rising into the air where he'd been, but was no longer, skirting about with the escape techniques of a wolf.

Washington turned towards him, his back now towards the approaching Kahionhaténion. Haytham dodged to the left just as Kahionhaténion's spear slammed through Washington's shoulder. The king shouted in the unexpected pain and Haytham shot forward, slashing with his sword. Washington slammed his staff upwards into Haytham's chin and sending him backwards. Though, the slash had cut into the king's leg. Not what Haytham had been aiming for, but it was better than nothing.

Haytham rolled to his feet, shaking his head to clear it and spitting blood from where he'd bitten his tongue. He fell into a defensive crouch and narrowed his eyes at Washington. The two circled each other, both carnivores hungry for blood. "Give up," snarled Washington, yanking the spear from his shoulder and paying the blood that rushed down the front of his uniform little attention. "You cannot hope to win this."

"Yet you are the one bleeding," replied Haytham without any signs of taunting in his tone. He saw his chance when Washington's leg gave out just slightly. He surged forward, slamming his right foot forward and kicking it out. He brought his other hand around and shoved his hidden blade deep into Washington's right wrist, causing the other to howl. The staff clattered. The king's fingers had betrayed him. Haytham wasted no time in kicking the staff away. While the action was precious to his success in the long run, it diverted his attention from Washington, who drove a small knife into Haytham's side.

Haytham stumbled backwards, clutching his side. He couldn't waste time trying to get through the cloud of pain. If he gave himself time to recover, he was also giving Washington time to nab the staff. He came forward again, this time unsteady on his feet. He stepped hard on the hand reaching for the staff and brought it forward to kick the king in the face, while at the same time the other swung his leg around and caught Haytham behind the knees, dropping him like a bag of stones.

Washington slammed Haytham back against the ground, planting his knee against the wound to his side, causing a shout of pain from Haytham as the knife point dug into his neck. "I would kill you," snarled the king, "but I wish to kill your wife first."

A bang rang out and the king's body went rigid, suddenly. A spot of red bloomed from the center of Washington's chest and his eyes flickered down towards it. Haytham snapped the wrist holding the knife, effectively disarming Washington and lurching upwards, burying his hidden blade in the false king's neck.

The crown toppled from his head as his body toppled to the side like a house of cards. Haytham rose as the other gurgled on blood. "Long live the king," said Haytham, coolly as he turned and glance towards where the shot had come from.

Shay.

Haytham's lips quirked slightly, though it grew when he saw her. Ziio. She was standing beside Shay and when she saw him she smiled. He limped to her and she met him in the middle, her arms looping about his neck and her face pressing into his neck. His arms wound about her middle, holding her close despite the pounding agony in his side. When they separated, he leaned down and placed a longing kiss against her lips, his pulse slowly returning to normal. She broke the kiss and glanced at his side. He waved off her concern and went to where Shay was kneeling back the staff.

He cast a glance across the battlefield, his eyes lingering on where Teiowí:sonte and Kanuna knelt over Kahionhaténion's still body. He felt a trickle of regret, and pushed it aside, returning his gaze to Shay as Ziio appeared at his side. Shay separated the staff from the Apple, which rolled slightly to rest against Haytham's shoe. He winced as he knelt and picked it up.

The electricity that rushed up his arm was sudden and he nearly dropped the precursor artifact. The voice in his head was sudden and he realized that even if he'd wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to drop it. He felt cold and clammy all over and it had nothing to do with the wound at his side. Though it had everything to do with what he'd heard.

It all went away when Shay put his hand on Haytham's shoulder. The latter was sure Shay had said something, though he didn't need to know, just had to see the dip of his brows to know that this wasn't a normal response. Haytham shook his head, and grunted, waving a hand towards his wound. Shay seemed to buy it and took the Apple from Haytham's hand.

"It belongs underground," said Shay, holding it as if it were bodily waste, "where no one can find it."

"Take care of it as you see fit," replied Haytham gruffly, his hand tight to his side. Ziio spoke her quiet concerns into his ear and he let her lead him to an undisturbed patch of earth where she could care for his wound. He meant to hold her close and make sure that she had not been harmed, though those concerns had been chased away by the disembodied voice that he could still hear teasing at his ear.

"Hello Haytham Kenway. I told the king you'd come and here you are; come to set me free at last."

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**A/N: Okay so! I'm going to start off by saying this was a really hard chapter to write and that's the main reason it took so long to get up here. I don't even know why this was such a hard chapter to write, it just was. Besides the writer's block (and Haytham's desire to be a pain in the ass) school and the musical I was apart of were ****_killing _****me. It's finally spring break so I hope to have at least one more chapter up within this next week. **

**That being said, this chapter here marks the end of part two. I originally planned for this to be a three part story. That number has since gone up after a chat I had with a friend of mine, that left me with ****_four _****parts after part two. Yes. I did say I have ****_four parts _****planned. Please let me know if you are all interested in that story going on that long. **

**Now, I have a quick note about this next part. I'm calling it an "interlude" instead of the third part. This interlude will follow another character (who was introduced in this chapter) and will take place a few years prior to Haytham's arrival in the alternate timeline. I'm hoping this interlude will both revive my motivate for this story and be as exciting for you guys as I'm hoping it will be to write. Again, please let me know your thoughts on this! **

**Phew. I'm done! Now, I'm off to start work on the next chapter. Thank you all for sticking with me. **


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